


White Carnations (for a blue-eyed boy)

by The_Kinky_Pet



Series: Stories in the Power & Paradox Universe [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst, Dom!Bucky, Dom!Steve, Gen, Power & Paradox Universe, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Kinky_Pet/pseuds/The_Kinky_Pet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky had waited and prayed and planned for this day.  And it had finally come.  </p><p>Steve had presented at last.</p><p>Now Bucky could begin his courtship.</p><p>(A story from the Power and Paradox BDSM AU--might make little sense in isolation! Sorry!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Carnations (for a blue-eyed boy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nonymos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/gifts).



> Warnings: mentions of period antisemitism, able-ism, and orientationism; also, a pubescent teenager whose had a crush on a prepubescent teenager, though without making any sexual moves on him. So, conceptual underage? Maybe?
> 
> Also, oblivious!Steve. To be fair, he's barely fourteen . . . Also, less-than-perfect!Bucky. 
> 
> This story is dedicated to Nonymos and Vanyel11 for their enthusiasm and support for the idea.

“I’ll see you at the Rogers’ on Saturday I trust,” Father Gabe said.

“Of course, Father,” Bucky replied.

The priest smiled. “It’s a happy occasion.”

“Yeah.” Bucky swallowed thickly. “It sure is.”

There were so many things Bucky wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words. Then again, Father Gabe, of all people, probably knew what he wanted to say.

Bucky’d been pretty sure Father Gabe had a soft spot for him and Stevie ever since Father Gabe only gave him five Aves penance after explaining why he’d socked Toddy Frank in the jaw but good. (Toddy’d been laughing and laughing-- _“That twinky little invalid Rogers’ll snuff it before he has a chance to eat white cake or a hot, throbbing—”_ BAM! Bucky’d sent him sprawling, then scrambling to get away, the coward.)

And it was Father Gabe who’d come to him with a soft, happy smile to tell him when the Vatican Council granted the blessed sacrament of marriage between regular folk and the inverted: _“I’m very happy for all whose love will flourish in the Church’s newfound wisdom.”_

(Course, Bucky’d never intended to let the church stop his courtship, but he figured Stevie might be a stickler for the sacraments so it was just as well.)

Bucky reread the note Steve had left him—not a formal presentation day invitation on fancy paper or anything like that—just a short note in Stevie’s meticulous script, left pinned to Bucky’s bunk in the boy’s dorm while he’d been out looking for odd jobs:

_Dear Bucky,_

_Well, it’s finally happened! All grown up and my turn to have a presentation day. We’re celebrating on Saturday at eight, nothing big. Just mom, Father Gabe, Mr. Schultz, and you. You better be there! I’ll never forgive you if you miss it, you punk. Better not be working late again!_

_Steve_

_ps. Really—it’s been way too long. I miss you._

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Bucky was running late. He’d gotten stuck on the docks. Old Mr. Williams had cussed him out, saying he hadn’t cleaned up good enough (it was always dirty there, what did the old bastard care?) and the crates weren’t stacked even (like it made a difference!), so he’d had to do it again. Bucky nearly yelled back, but he held his tongue, thinking of all the poor fellas in the Hooverville and Stevie and his big plans. So, Bucky’d just grit his teeth and said, “Sorry, sir. I’ll do it again, sir,” and tried to be quick.

The water at Magdalene house was freezing; he washed and shaved fast as he could, and made a dash for the florist.

The dozen white roses displayed prominently in the window were flawless—just now newly opening, petals starting to uncurl from the buds. They were seventy-five cents.

He could buy them. Bucky’d been saving for two years. He’d been picking up odd jobs wherever he could and the old bastard hired him pretty regular down at the docks; hard, dirty labor, but in times like these, he was damn lucky to get anything at all. And of course, working at Magdalene House got him room and board ‘til he finished school. He had $17.75 hidden away behind the loose brick under his bed, and whenever he added a few new quarters and dimes to it he thought about Stevie: imagined giving him the colored pencil set, fit for a proper artist, in the shop window on Williams Street; pictured them on the train, going West together; pictured himself carrying Stevie’s things up the stairs to their first flat while Stevie insisted he coulda carried it himself; pictured the most beautiful polished collar—classy, not showy—just like the one he’d seen on that city swell last year. (He tried to ignore the churning in his gut, the voice that whispered Stevie’d need money more for doctors and medicines than a trousseau or--)

Seventy-five cents was a lot of money. In the end, Bucky got him carnations—white for his presentation day. Stevie wasn’t the kind to be fussed over the ‘delicate purity of the rose,’ the ‘perfect symbol of submission,’ especially not at seventy-five cents. (Hell, Steve knew what kind of jobs he worked and’d probably give him lip for the extravagance if he _did_ bring roses.)

Bucky grinned. That was Stevie all right.

He counted out fifteen cents for the white carnations and hurried down the lane.

Bucky checked his reflection in the window of the corner bodega before making his way up four flights of creaking stairs to the Rogers’ residence. His heart was beating a little faster than it should be and he wasn’t gonna pretend and blame the stairs. He took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come on in, Buck!” Steve called through the door.

Steve was grinning up at him from the table, cake laid in front of him, but all Bucky could see were the candles.

The candles were blue.

Bucky stared in shock.

(No. It had to be a prank. It couldn’t be--)

Steve was grinning.

“You should see your face, Buck!” Steve called out, laughing so hard his cheeks went a little pink.

Bucky smiled at Steve—beautiful, wonderful Steve!—feeling full to burst with affection and relief.

(That little punk! It was a joke. Oh thank God it--)

But then Bucky caught sight of Father Gabe, standing off to Steve’s right and the pity in his eyes knocked the wind from Bucky’s lungs and froze his smile in place.

(No. It was real.)

“Well, aren’t you gonna say something?” Steve demanded.

“Congratulations,” Bucky answered, mouth dry and smile still frozen. He turned to Mrs. Rogers and offered her the flowers.

“Carnations for the hostess,” he said with a little bow.

“Thank you, James,” she said and her voice was so gentle he thought, ‘she knows!’, then nearly laughed at himself. (Of course she knows . . . _Everyone_ knows.)

“You’re real quiet, Buck,” Steve said, sounding pleased with himself, still amused. “You that shocked?”

“Nah,” Bucky said, forcing his usual cheer. “You’ve always been full of surprises, haven’t you?”

He ruffled Steve’s hair, mussing it up.

“Aaaw, Bucky!” Steve protested, ducking away. “Knock it off! I’m not a kid anymore!” Steve threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin: “And I’m a Dom now too.”

“Sure, kid, sure,” Bucky said, sitting next to him. “But I still got two years and seven inches on ya.”

“I could still take you!” Steve said, half-joking and half-fierce.

(That was his Steve.) Bucky’s heart gave a sharp twist. (No. Not _his_ Steve.)

“Now that Bucky’s here, I think it’s time for cake, don’t you Stevie?” Mrs. Rogers asked.

Steve nodded vigorously, grin happy and carefree.

“Mr. Schultz?” Mrs. Rogers said. “Would you do us the honor of lighting Steve’s candles for him?”

“It is I who would be honored,” Mr. Schultz said, German accent still clinging heavily to every syllable.

Mr. Schultz took the matches from her. Sargent Rogers was long gone from this world, but when he’d pictured it— _white candles, white candles!_ —Bucky had imagined Mrs. Rogers would ask Father Gabe. After all he was a Catholic. And a priest.

As Mr. Schultz struck the match and the air filled with that sulfur smell, Bucky thought distantly that Sister Perpetua sure wouldn’t like it. (The Sister had complained viciously and loudly that it wasn’t right for a nice Catholic boy like Steve to spend so much time with a--- Well. At least, she had done until Father Gabe’d heard her.)

Mr. Schultz lit the candles, and turned to Mrs. Rogers with an inquiring, “And shall I--?”.

She nodded. “Please.”

“Steven,” Mr. Schultz said, voice warm. He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts, “Here, in sight of your family and friends, this is the blessing I have for you.” He smiled and raised a hand. “May the Lord God help you always to be a good Dominant and a good man . . .”

(Steve wasn’t a sub.)

“ . . . May your judgment never be clouded . . .”

(How could this happen?)

“. . . May your kindness be an inspiration to all those who see you . . .”

There wasn’t enough air; Bucky’s chest felt tight.

“ . . . May your strength protect those in need . . .”

(It was all wrong; everything was just . . . _wrong_.)

“May your voice be filled with song, and your days with joy and love, now and for the rest of your life.”

A pause, then Mr. Schultz threw both hands in the air with a broad grin and cried, “Mazel tov!”

“Amen,” said Mrs. Rogers and Father Gabe.

“Now I make a wish, right?” Steve asked.

“Yes.”

And there it was—the happy carefree smile Bucky loved, but in that moment he hated it. Nothing wistful, nothing disappointed. Just hopeful and happy that was all Bucky had ever wanted for Steve, but this wasn’t how he’d imagined it and--

Steve screwed his eyes shut, making that wish, then blew out the candles with a big breath that clearly took everything out of him. Everybody clapped. Once he caught his breath, Steve started cutting the cake into slices.

Bucky kept a smile plastered on his face as the bustle went on around him.

“Young Steven,” Mr. Schultz was saying. “It seems only yesterday you were reading the _ABC Primer_ and needed help getting up to sit on my pickle barrels! . . . ”

“. . . Delicious,” Father Gabe said, sampling the cake. “Is that honey?”

“Yes. That his days may be filled with sweetness,” Mr. Schultz handed Bucky a piece of cake.

“Come, Mr. Barnes. Have some lekach,” Mr. Schultz said. “And there are hammentashen.”

“Thanks, Mr. Schultz,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, dig in Bucky!” Steve said with a grin.

The food tasted like ash in his mouth, dry and bitter.

“The cake’s great,” Bucky said politely. It probably was.

(Steve wasn’t a sub.)

“Golly, that’s good, Mr. Schultz!” Steve said. “Thank you so much!”

“It’s really very kind of you,” Mrs. Rogers said, laying a hand on the older man’s arm. “And for bringing the candles. Can’t say I expected blue.”

Bucky could barely focus on the conversation. He zoned out, pretending to be absorbed in the cake.

“Only, I hope they’ll let me stay, ya know?” Steve was saying as Mr. Schultz nodded, “Cooking’s a good skill either way, right? I mean, you’re a Dom too and you make an amazing cake!”

(We’ll never get married.)

“Perhaps if you petition the school.”

(He’ll never be mine.)

“Yeah, I’ll do that. I really like the classes and I’m pretty good, you know? Shop would be good too, but with both maybe I can . . .”

How long did he have to wait until he could leave without hurt feelings?

“ . . . news from your family?”

“ . . . still hope Isaac will bring Leah and their children, but they do not like the idea of leaving.”

“Their litte Rebecca presented recently too, didn’t she?”

“Yes! A happy day.”

Everyone was talking and laughing and smiling and eating cake and—

“—and that’ll sure show Toddy Frank, right Buck?”

“Huh?”

“Hey, are you all right?” Steve asked, leaning forward with concern.

“Sure, buddy. Just tired,” Bucky scrubbed at his brow. “I worked on the docks today and old Mr. Williams made me do the whole thing twice.”

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Rogers said. “You must be exhausted. Working so hard.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I’m pretty near dead on my feet. Fact, I worry I might be coming down with something. Maybe I’d better head out early.”

“Awww, c’mon, Buck!” Steve cried. “Don’t go! You’ve hardly been here at all.”

“Steven Rogers,” his mother chided. “Don’t be selfish. Your friend needs his rest.”

Steve immediately looked abashed. “Sorry, Bucky. Course, if you’re tired, you’d better rest up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, feeling pathetically grateful to Mrs. Rogers. “But don’t worry, buddy. We’ll celebrate properly soon! Heck, I’ll take you out on the town!”

“You mean it?”

“You bet!” Bucky swallowed. “I’ve got a bit saved away for it.”

Steve looked entirely delighted.

“Really!? That sounds swell!” He nodded happily. “Okay then. Good night! And thank you for coming to my party!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Bucky said. He ruffled Steve’s hair, bade everyone good night, and retreated.

Bucky only made it a few steps down the hall before he crumpled. His eyes prickled and ached; he pressed his face against the wall. His breathing hitched and stuttered.

(Don’t cry. You’re a Dom. Don’t you fucking cry.)

Deep breath.

And suddenly, he was blood-boilingly angry.

(What the hell kind of sense did this make?)

The door opened. Bucky jerked himself upright, but it was only Father Gabe. The priest limped towards him, eyes wide with compassion, and reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. Bucky ducked out from under the touch.

“He’ll always be your friend,” Father Gabe said softly.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s mouth twisted; the word sounded bitter.

“God sometimes moves in mysterious ways, but—“

“God?” Bucky hissed. “Spare me, _Father_! What the hell kinda sense does this make? For _God_ to shove Stevie out there, like _this_ , to fend for himself? If he was mine, I coulda taken care of him!”

Bucky sneered. “You know, I was never the praying type, ‘til I met Stevie. He’s pretty much all I’ve ever prayed for. I went down on my knees every night before bed, every Sunday I lit my little candle, and promised God if he’d just let Steve hang in there and hold onto his health, what little health God in his _infinite kindness_ saw fit to dole out to him. I promised that if He’d just let me keep him, Stevie’d never want for anything. I’d take such good care of him; I’d be the best husband, the kindest, most thoughtful. I’d never raise my hand to him, not even my voice! Swore that I’d—“

(--be _nothing_ like my father.)

“Now this?”

“You should be more grateful,” Father Gabe said.

Bucky was silent.

“Friendship is no lesser a love.”

“What do you know about love?” Bucky sneered. “You have to say that, in your line of work.”

Father Gabe took a sharp breath. Bucky startled—he’d never seen such anger on the man’s face—but the priest mastered himself quickly.

“The girl I loved is dead, Mr. Barnes. She died in the influenza pandemic.” He spoke softly. “She was sixteen.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open silently, wind knocked out of him, his thoughts a jumble of apologies—some to Father Gabe, some frantically to God. (I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it—don’t--)

“Mr. Barnes,” Father Gabe began, then amended more gently, “ _James_. Go. Go take time to mourn for the romance you’ll never have, the dreams that won’t come true in the ways you’d imagined. But don’t go too long. Don’t let bitterness and longing come between you and a friend who loves you as dearly as life itself. Love, after all, is still love.” 

With that Father Gabe turned and limped back to the Rogers’ door.

Bucky darted down the stairs and out, down the lane as fast as his legs would carry him.

He ran. He ran as fast and as far as he could, but knew he’d be back soon. Vowed it.

But not tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Would love to hear from you. :-) 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> FABULOUS NEWS! The wonderful and talented Nonymos wrote an AMAZING Steve/Bucky set in an alternate universe of the P&P alternate universe that's D/D. Run don't walk! So, for anyone left too sad by White Carnations, rejoice! Here's Put your Hands On the Glass: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4508121


End file.
